


You're Jealous, Aren't You?

by friendlybomber



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mark of the Assassin DLC, Non-Canon Relationship, quarrelling, relationship of shaky foundation and classification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:10:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlybomber/pseuds/friendlybomber
Summary: Isolde confronts Teagan at Chateau Haine over jealousy and things better left unsaid.





	You're Jealous, Aren't You?

**Author's Note:**

> I've hesitated to post this for a while. I think Teagan and Isolde have such a strange, subtext-heavy relationship, and I wanted to explore that. This makes reference to my universe with Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae and Teagan's relationship with her (read about their relationship in my fic No loose ends), but it is non-canonical within my extended canon, since the Hawke mentioned in this is female, and my canon Hawke is male. Anyway, this is a weirder one, but i wanted to put it out there in the world

The sunset over Chateau Haine lit the sky in bands of pink and orange. The dying light bounced off the tall rock walls, casting shadows on the courtyard and the waning festivities. Unnoticed by any servants or visiting blue bloods, Isolde Guerrin wrangled her brother-in-law into a side room.

There was no light save a single yellow torch, and the storage room was gray and dusty. Teagan scowled and crossed his arms. He was not one to be easily exhausted by asinine conversation and posturing – that was why Eamon had sent him instead of going himself – yet after two days in Chateau Haine, he was roughly three seconds away from strangling the next Orlesian he saw.

In the dim light, Isolde’s big brown eyes gleamed at him. She grasped his arms and leaned in, whispering despite their isolation. “Teagan, I have to tell you something.”

"I _had_ assumed,” he replied. “Seeing as you decided to drag me into this storage closet.”

Her lip quivered. “I cannot keep it in any longer. I have to tell you. I don’t like it when you- you _flirt_ with other women, Teagan.”

‘Other women?’” he repeated. “Besides _whom_?”

“Please, Teagan,” she said. “Surely you are not blind. Surely you see what’s between us.”

“What’s _between us_?” He tried to take a step back, but she held on tight. “Isolde, you are my brother’s wife. Whatever is between us is strictly-”

“Do not pretend,” she insisted. Her eyes searched his. “All these years, Teagan… I cannot just ignore it any longer. When you were talking to the Champion of Kirkwall earlier, I felt… consumed with jealousy. I did not want you charming her like she was… she was…”

“She was what,” he said.

“I cannot stand to see you with other women,” she breathed. “It drives me insane.”

“Isolde, you are married,” Teagan hissed. “And not to me. Who I talk to and in what manner are none of your concern.”

Isolde scowled at him and tightened her grip. “Why not? What is wrong with me? Is it that I am not short enough? That I am not scrawny enough? That I am not an _elf_?”

Teagan backed against a cupboard, covering them both in a cloud of dust. His hands clenched into fists at his side. “What, the _Hero of Ferelden_?”

“I saw you two in Denerim several years ago,” Isolde said lowly. She looked away for the first time. “I knew what you were doing.”

“There’s nothing between the Hero of Ferelden and myself that isn’t strictly platonic,” Teagan stated. A twinge of bitterness crept into his voice.

She snapped her head to look at him. A fire blazed in her eyes. “Is that what you call it? Platonic? Perhaps I do not understand the word, but I as I know it, _kissing_ is _not_ platonic.”

“Kissing can be platonic,” Teagan muttered. “With the Hero…”

“And is groping her like some lovesick teenager also platonic?”

He glared at her. “What I do with the Hero of Ferelden – what I _did_ , _four years ago_ – is my business. It doesn’t concern you, Isolde. Let me go. You have no right to be jealous. Not when you have Eamon.”

She would not release him. “I’m in _love_ with you, Teagan. Can’t you _see_ that?”

He averted his eyes. “That’s not my fault. Isolde, I’ve told you a thousand times-”

She kissed him, gripping his head and pressing him against the cupboard. He protested for a moment – a few moments, admittedly, and he shouldn’t have given her so much time – before pushing her off him. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, glaring viciously at her.

“ _No,_ ” he snarled.

She moved towards him again. He held her back at an arm’s length.

“I said, _no_! Flames, Isolde, control yourself! You’re not a girl. You’re a married woman. And I will _not_ kiss my brother’s wife.”

“Why don’t you want me?” Isolde accused. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want,” Teagan said. “You are married to Eamon.” He moved to slip past her.

She caught his arm, turning him so his back was to the door. “I love you. Please.”

“You. Are. Married. To. Eamon,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. “Remember that. I’m not yours to love.”

“Teagan-”

“Maker, woman, do you want me to say it in Orlesian? _Tu êtes marié à Eamon._ Whatever you _think_ is between us is over. I won’t-” He took a composing breath. “You made your choice. I’m making mine. Now let me go.”

He wrested his arm from her grasp and fixed her with one last incredulous scowl. She watched him storm out the door back into the courtyard, letting the orange light spill into the room. After a few beats, she followed him, and tried to swallow the icy ball in her throat as they re-entered the world of asinine conversation and endless posturing.

 


End file.
